


Shot to the Head

by The_Little_Sun



Series: Can I Endure Your Love? [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (at least for the first chapter), Blood and Injury, Creeper Hybrid Sam | Awesamdude, Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mentioned Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam has a terrible time and it shows, Sam | Awesamdude Backstory, Sam | Awesamdude-Centric, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29686209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Little_Sun/pseuds/The_Little_Sun
Summary: “Puffy? Puffy, is that you?”“No, it’s Tommy.” When Sam blearily opens his eyes, Tommy is crouched in front of him. “There you are.” Tommy shifts his balance and Sam’s eyes are drawn to the axe resting across his knees.Oh. He knows how this one goes. He doesn’t like this one.--Sam's trapped with the Egg and he's going to do whatever it takes to get out alive, even at the expense of his own sanity.
Relationships: Cara | CaptainPuffy & Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Sam | Awesamdude & TommyInnit
Series: Can I Endure Your Love? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2174889
Comments: 32
Kudos: 162





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am back in record time, folks!  
> Just a warning; this one does deal with some nasty stuff (mostly in hallucinations), so careful reading.
> 
> We have no backstory for Sam, so free real estate! I plan to make the most of it. (And look, if Ranboo gets enderman powers then I say Sam gets creeper attributes too.)  
> As always - don't forget to leave some kudos, and comments are much appreciated!

Sam carefully edges around a piglin that’s blocking one side of the nether portal. It huffs and eyes him, searching for an opponent, but the gold of his circlet must pass inspection as the piglin starts to wander off with a snort. Sam steps into the portal before it changes its mind and the familiar rush of energy surrounds him. He shuts his eyes as the magic tugs at his clothing, brushes against his face, trying to pull him apart. There’s a flash of purple against his eyelids as the portal spits him out.

His communicator chirps. A message from Bad, checking if Sam was on the way.

About half an hour ago, Bad sent him a message demanding that he join Puffy and the rest of the Badlands for a meeting at their egg-themed ‘headquarters’. He’s got an idea about what they wanted to discuss and who they might be particularly displeased with.

In fact, Sam has some strong words for two individuals himself. Egg or not, there needs to be some ground rules while Tommy’s running around the Badlands. Rules that should have been put into place long before now.

There’s a spot of rainbow further ahead, but by the time Sam’s registered it, it’s gone over the hill. It’s probably Puffy on her way to the meeting. If he hurries, he might be able to catch up to her.

It seems she’s in a rush. Sam doesn’t want to outright run after her and within moments she’s completely disappeared around a building. Puffy had been yelling something, although Sam’s not quite close enough to make out individual words, and she just went the wrong way. He’s not sure what she’s up to or where she’s going but leaves her to it.

Bad and Ant are waiting outside the headquarters. Their heads are together, Bad’s waving his hand around to emphasize something, and Ant’s nodding along with an occasional lightning-quick gesture. They don’t see Sam walking down the path towards them until he calls out a greeting.

Both of them look up. Bad’s hand is frozen in some odd motion, but he adjusts it into a wave. “Hello, Sam.”

“Thanks for coming,” Ant says.

Sam jumps over the last few stairs to the grass. His left foot doesn’t quite make the landing and he stumbles. When he looks up, it’s almost as if Bad and Ant have teleported over to him. Ant reaches out and grabs his arm until he’s stable then quickly lets go. Bad hovers on Sam’s other side.

“I think Puffy’s got turned around. Did you see her?” Sam’s arm is tingling where Ant had touched him, even through the fabric of his sleeve. He ignores it.

Bad and Ant glance at each other. “No,” Bad says just as Ant says, “Yes.” They glare at each other.

“ _Ye_ _s_ , we did see her. She was pacing around here before leaving. We arrived at the same time and just missed her.” Bad clears his throat. “So, I guess that’s technically a yes.”

“Right.” Sam shakes out his arm to try and get rid of the feeling. Ant gives him a sheepish look.

They stand there in silence for a moment. When there’s still no sign of Puffy, Sam asks, “What do we need to talk about?”

“Oh, you know.”

“What does that mean?”

Bad shrugs. “I think you know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I do. Are you talking about earlier?” Sam fights the urge to check his inventory for his weapons. He doesn’t need them. _Don’t let them go, don’t let them go_.

“Yes,” Bad says, “but I’ll explain more once Puffy’s here.”

And he could leave it at that. Sam could be patient and wait until everyone’s here, but there’s something in Bad’s tone of voice that doesn’t sit well with him. _Press him, press him on it_.

“If you have something to air, now’s as good a time as any.” Sam tilts his head when Bad looks at him. “You want this meeting to be productive, right? Blindsiding us with information isn’t going to help.”

Bad’s expression hardens. “I said I’d explain once Puffy gets here.”

“And she might be a bit.”

Ant’s looking between them. He’s tightened his grip on his trident and the tip wavers up from where it had been pointed at the ground. His stance has shifted.

Shit. _Pressed too much._

“Actually Sam,” Bad says as one hand snaps out to grab a strap on Sam’s chestplate and jerks him forward. Sam has to tilt his head back or else risk smashing his mask against Bad’s chest. “I think _you’re_ the one who needs to explain some things.”

“Bad, let me go.” Sam wedges an arm between them to give himself some space, but Bad doesn’t release him.

Sam nearly loses his footing when Bad jostles him. “We _tried_ to get you on our side, Sam.” Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see Ant moving around them. Bad looms over him and gives him another shake. “We had a fair discussion about this.”

A fair discussion. _Is he serious?_

“Hey, guys!” Puffy’s voice calls. Bad releases his grip and steps back, giving Sam a little shove for good measure.

Bad spins around to beam at her. “Hi Puffy.”

“When did you guys get here? I was literally _just_ here and you were nowhere to be seen.”

 _Hiding. They were hiding_. Sam throws a wary look at Ant, who’s circled back around to Bad’s side. _They were waiting for me._

Bad laughs, “Are you sure? We got here a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah,” Puffy gives Sam a smile that dims a little when she sees Ant. “So, uh, what were you talking about?”

“Nothing important. Sam here was just telling us about what happened earlier and how he interrupted us.”

Puffy squints at him, but otherwise ignores the implications in Bad’s words. She turns to poke fun at Ant for something. Ant’s response is overly loud, indulgent in Puffy’s topic change. The three of them continue to chat, but Sam’s focused on the shaking in his hands. He curls his fingers into his palms to try and subdue it. The leather of his gloves creak.

They _knew_ he didn’t like to be touched without warning. Ant had at least been apologetic about it and it had been a quick, helpful touch. But Bad had threatened him. That was posturing. Nothing more than a demand that Sam be cowed.

There’s a distinct lull in the conversation that snaps Sam out of his head. Puffy’s looking at him expectantly while Bad and Ant’s expressions are closed off and unfriendly. “Yes?” Sam’s a little surprised at how steady his voice is.

“I saw Ranboo earlier, so I think it would be best to move our conversation somewhere more private. It’s why we made a headquarters, after all.” Puffy gestures at the building.

And Sam doesn’t want to go. He can feel it - a sharp tug at the back of his thoughts, a metallic splash against his tongue. _Don’t go. You won’t be walking back out._

“Yeah, alright. Let’s go.”

He shoves the feeling down. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want to go ( _or if the feeling whispers danger_ ) because he has something more important to fight for here. He has to make sure that the others understand that Tommy and Tubbo are off-limits. They have been through enough. With Puffy here, Sam could even have an ally. This is an opportunity he can’t miss.

Bad assigns seating for everyone. Sam gratefully takes the chair across from him. At least there’s a table-worth of space between them with Ant on his right and Puffy to his left. She keeps sending confused looks at everyone. She had to have overheard something, although the tension in the air is hard to miss. When she looks back over at him, Sam gives her the best smile he can muster. She must see it in his eyes as she gives him a thumbs-up in return. Puffy settles down into her chair with some tension eased out of her shoulders.

There’s an awkward moment where no one talks. Puffy tries to ask what everyone’s been up to and Sam mentions the hotel and working with Tommy, but he trails off as a sense of dread seizes him. Bad’s staring at him.

“Actually, that’s what we were hoping to talk to you two about.” Bad gestures between him and Ant. “See, the Egg’s told us that there might be a, uh, _threat_ involved with this hotel.”

“A threat?” Puffy rests her elbows on the table and drops her head onto her hands. “Like, someone is trying to destroy the Egg?”

“Mhm. Now, if you would like, Sam, would you recount what happened earlier?” And there it is. Bad smiles politely, but it’s too strained to come across convincingly. “You were fairly eager to talk about it before.”

“What exactly do you want to know?”

Bad waves a hand dismissively. “Why you got involved when it was obviously under control, for a start. Or why you helped Tommy and Tubbo leave.”

“What are you talking about?” Puffy asks.

“We have a _problem_ , Puffy. One that would have been an easy fix. But, _no_. Sam just had to get in the way.”

Puffy startles at Bad’s venomous tone. “What? What do you mean by ‘a problem’? How did Sam get in the way?”

Ant leans forward to get Puffy’s attention. “Tommy and Tubbo were visiting the Egg and Sam interrupted.”

_Interrupted?_

Sam’s on his feet and slamming his hands atop the table before he can realize what he’s doing. Puffy flinches, but Bad and Ant don’t react. “You were trying to shut them away in an obsidian box!”

“We had to know if Tommy’s immunity was from a lack of exposure.” Bad frowned and added, “If Tommy isn’t really immune then our problems would be poof!” He mimes an explosion. “All gone.”

“This server has a terrible habit of solving things with explosions,” Puffy says with a nervous chuckle. “But, um. Is Tommy’s immunity that big of a deal?”

Ant sighs. “He’s neutral, Puffy.”

“So?” Sam snaps. He’s angrier than he first realized. His skin feels as if it's burning where Bad’s fingers brushed his chestplate and Ant grabbed him. _Firecracker, ignition_.

Bad leans his chair back. “It means that the Egg doesn’t like him. If he can’t be influenced then he needs to go.”

No. _No_. That can’t be right. Bad’s changed, sure. The Egg has possessed him, rearranged his priorities. After today’s stunt, Sam shouldn’t have been surprised and yet hearing Bad say _this_ . Aloud. In front of others. _Shit_.

Puffy recoils. “You’re... you’re talking about getting rid of a child?”

“I would have preferred another method, but unfortunately, that ship has sailed thanks to Sam.”

“ _No_ , don’t you try and pin this on me, Bad. This is insane. They’re...they’re children!” Fury burns at the tips of his fingers and it’s an enormous effort to fight it back under control ( _kaboom_ ). Bad’s only response is to shrug. _He’s going to strangle him._

“He needs to be dealt with,” Ant says, “it’s what the Egg wants.”

Bad nods. “Tommy might come between the Egg and greatness. That means-”

“That means nothing! Do you _know_ what he’s gone through?” Sam’s chair topples backwards when he leans forward. “He’s been through so much! Dream exiled him and-”

“Sam,” Bad warns.

“Dream’s told me what he did to him. It was awful, Bad. You can’t do this to him, not after all of that!”

“Sam!”

Puffy wraps her arms around herself. “No, no. He’s right. You can’t go after Tommy just because he’s immune. That’s too far.”

“This isn’t up for debate.” Bad glares at Puffy then Sam. “Tommy is a threat and he will be dealt with.” Ant nods in agreement. 

There’s rage bubbling up his throat. Sam wants to toss decorum out the window and lunge across the table to throttle Bad until he understands. A side glance at Puffy next to him reveals that he’s not the only one. It’s getting difficult for him to keep a lid on his words, his emotions, and - _shit,_ how long has it been since he’s been this out of control?

Puffy shakes her head, a firm expression settled across her face. “Bad, this isn’t right. You can’t go after a child just because the...the Egg tells you too.”

“You can’t kill them,” Sam says. It’s almost enough to make him sick just saying it. He doesn’t add, _I won’t let you. I’ll kill you first. You won’t be able to touch him_. Bad’s narrowed eyes makes him think he didn’t have to.

“Neither of you are going to change your minds on this, are you?”

“Fuck no.” Puffy crosses her arms. Sam just gives a quick shake of his head, afraid of saying anything else might put him in dangerous territory.

Bad groans. “Alright, you know what? _Fine_. You win. We’ll leave Tommy be.”

What? _Not that easy. Liar, liar._

“We can’t be divided while the Egg is still weak,” Ant says to the hummed agreement of Bad. Sam cannot believe it. Bad’s not exactly a push-over unless Skeppy is involved, and it really seems like he rolled over quickly. Too quickly?

But, Puffy doesn’t seem to be too worried. Maybe he’s looking too much into it?

“Sam, Puffy, you’re right. We...we can’t do this. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Bad adjusts his chair and then gestures towards Sam. “Sam, go ahead and take your seat.”

Embarrassed, Sam does.

Bad lets out a little laugh. “Maybe I’ve let the Egg influence me too much. I mean, we’re right on top of it. I can’t believe I let myself go down that road. I’m sorry. What was I thinking?”

Puffy leans forward to place a hand on Bad’s arm with a quick smile. “Hey, it’s okay.”

_It’s not! It’s not okay!_

Sam settles back against his chair with his arms crossed. Bad’s not looking at him, but Ant’s darting glances towards him. He tries to relax his body to show that he’s not interested in taking the discussion further than it’s gone. No fighting. Sam doesn’t _want_ to raise a sword against another member of the Badlands ( _but he would, if it meant protecting the boys_ ).

“Sam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to single you out like that or, well,” Bad touches his chestplate. “Can we let bygones be bygones?”

“Sure,” Sam says in an effort to try and get Puffy’s sudden, intense gaze off of him.

“Great!” Bad claps his hands together. “In that case, I have a little favor to ask of you.” He pushes his chair back, stretches, and then walks around the table to stand by Sam. “Do you see that chest there? Would you mind putting your stuff in there?”

“Uh, no. I’m not going to do that. Not after all of this.” Sam raises an eyebrow at Bad’s groan.

“C’mon, Sam.”

“No.”

Ant says, “What if we make a deal? We promise to go with your idea of a bank, meaning we’ll leave Tommy alone, and you put your pickaxes in there. Just your picks.”

“And trident,” Bad adds.

“Okay, your picks _and_ trident. In exchange for a guarantee of Tommy’s safety.”

Puffy’s not appearing too impressed. “That’s super sus, guys.”

“You’ll leave Tommy alone?” They all ignore Puffy, although Sam can feel her suspicion radiating off her. _Listen!_ “What do you even need these for?”

“I lost a bet,” Ant says at the same moment Bad says, “My pickaxe was stolen.”

Puffy’s shaking her head. Sam tilts his head, thinking. “You swear you’ll leave Tommy alone?”

Bad’s smile offers a promise. “Yes.”

“I’ll give them to Ant then. Okay? Since he said he needed them.”

“Sam,” Puffy warns. She’s leaning forward, peering at him from around Bad. Sam opens his inventory and there’s a single tap on his glove. “Sam, you know this is really suspicious.”

He pulls out his pickaxes and sets them on the table, where Ant is quick to snatch them up. Bad leans against the table’s edge. “And both tridents, please.”

Sam’s hand wavers over his trident. _For Tommy, it’s for Tommy_. “I’ll get my stuff back when you’re done?”

“Of course.”

It feels like Puffy’s searing her fingertip against his skin. She taps his glove once - twice more. “S _am_.”

Sam selects his tridents and their weight easily settles in his hands. _What are you doing? You idiot, stop!_ He hands them over to Ant and watches with a deep-seated sense of loss as he tucks them away. Once they are secured in Ant’s inventory, Bad claps his hands together and smiles down at Sam.

“Not so bad, was it?” Bad’s smile falters when Sam doesn’t respond. “Look, I really am sorry, Sam. I...I don’t know how to make you see that.”

“Leave Tommy, _and_ Tubbo, alone and I’ll forgive you.”

Bad shares a look with Ant. “Okay. Sounds fair.”

Then Bad’s reaching down, encircling Sam’s wrists in a bruising grip and tugging him out of his chair. Sam can’t get his feet under himself fast enough and Bad drags him up straight. Puffy’s shoving her chair back, snapping something, but Sam can’t hear her over the roaring in his ears. Bad’s fingers dig into his gloves, sharply pressing into his skin underneath. It burns. _Let go. Let go, let go, let go!_

“Let go.” Sam tries to jerk himself free. “What the hell, let me go!”

Bad pulls him forward three, four steps and then smiles. “Alright. Bye, buddy.”

The click of a button and the floor disappears from under him. 

There’s a moment where Sam feels weightless, but it’s quickly swallowed up by panic. He hits the ground hard. He tries to push himself up onto his knees but something in his arm twists and he cries out. There’s screaming above him, and _laughter_ , and he must have hit his head because he can’t make heads or tails of it.

“Sam! Sam! Oh shit, oh _shit_. Sam!”

Puffy. She sounds scared. Sam tries to lift himself up again, pushing past the agony, and manages to sit back. Straight above him is a small hole with a fluffy face looking over it. Did he really fall that far? The face whips out of sight.

“Kill Puffy, Ant.”

 _No_ . No, no they can’t do that. She’s their friend. _They’d kill a child, what’s a friend to them?_ There’s the sounds of a scuffle, and then Ant’s voice trickles down. “Stay with him, make sure he can’t get out.”

Sam’s head lolls to the side, something warm drips into his eyes. The light from above is eclipsed and Sam slowly leans his head back to see. Bad waves down at him ( _definitely hit his head, he can’t wave back_ ). “Hey Sammy boy! You are right on top of the Egg.”

“Let me out,” Sam shouts back. The effort and noise hurts his head.

“And guess what? Sam, you’re staying down there until you love the Egg as much as we do!”

His head is pounding, Bad’s words only making the pain sharper. “I won’t, I _won’t,_ ” Sam cradles his head as Bad’s laughter echoes around him. “I won’t.”

There’s a click from above and then Bad’s voice is gone, and the opening is sealed shut. _Should have listened. Why didn’t you listen?_

There’s something heating up the stone beneath him. The air is thick, clouded with dust. A soft rustle of vegetation echoes beyond his prison. Sam blinks. Bad said he was on top of it? On top of...on top of _it_.

No. 

No, no, no. He lurches to his feet and stumbles towards a window slat. The tips of his fingers can touch it, but it’s too small for him to get through even if it had been within reach. He slumps against the wall. This can’t be happening. He slides down to the ground, curling in on himself and tucking his legs up to his chest.

They’d let him out. Eventually. Right?

Sam sucks in a wheezy breath. They wouldn’t leave him here to rot. They wanted him to love the Egg, and he wouldn’t. _Never_. They’d have to let him out once they realize that their plan was a failure. How long would that take?

He isn’t going to give in. He _couldn’t_. There were people that needed him and if he was corrupted, who would protect them? Who would protect them from _him_? Sam ducks his head against his legs, digs his nails into the thick material of his gloves as a buzzing starts up in his ears.

His head is pounding and his eyes feel heavy. _Can’t sleep with a concussion_. But there’s only so much he can do as his eyes slide close and a smothering presence wraps around him, whispering _rest_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the comments, kudos, and interest! I've fought with this chapter and ended up chopping it into two parts for pacing purposes (there are now 4 chapters). A few tags have been changed/edited so be sure that you double check those. Safe reading, and enjoy!
> 
> (Chapter reuploaded because the published date was off for some reason.)

Sam wakes to voices.

He tries to shift into up onto his knees, but putting pressure on his left arm nearly rips a scream from his throat. The noise is getting louder, marching straight up to him. There’s something hard beneath him, polished obsidian walls around him and it echoes the footsteps until it’s all he can hear.

There’s something wrong. Something beyond his throbbing head and scraped hands. The ache setted behind his eyes flares up as the voices become more distinct. He lets his head loll back against the wall. _He doesn’t remember being this tired_.

“Is he alive?” Ant’s voice is muffled through the obsidian.

There’s the sound of something kicking against the wall and then Bad’s face is peering into the little window. “I don’t know, he wasn’t moving earlier when I checked -- oh! Hello, Sam.”

“Bad?” His voice tears at his throat.

Bad’s face disappears from view and there’s the sound of someone moving around. Whispers trickle through to him, but Sam’s too tired to try to make sense of them. There’s a low bubbling filling the gaps between their mumbling - is it lava?

“Is that a good idea?” Ant’s voice pitches in frustration and Sam winces. “Won’t he be able to get out then?”

 _Get out? Out of what?_ The thought drifts away before Sam can properly examine it.

“It’ll be small.”

Something chips at the wall Sam’s facing, half a foot or so beneath the open slat. A pickaxe? The noise pierces Sam’s already foggy thoughts and makes his pounding headache worse. He groans and tries to cover his ears with his hands, but to no avail. “Stop…”

“One second, Sam. We just need to open this up a little. Give you some more breathing room.” Bad’s tone is comforting. Completely at odds with--

_“You’re staying down there until you love the Egg as much as we do!”_

Sam jerks upright. Wait. No. This isn’t right. _There’s something wrong_ . “Let me out.” _There’s something wrong!_ His chest feels tight, there’s a spark of heat against his ribs.

A huff of laughter from Bad is the only acknowledgement he gets.

The Egg is beneath him, heating the obsidian under his feet. The dark walls are tinted red by the thick, dusty air. There’s bubbling lava and the whisper of vines brushing against each other. His reflection stares back at him. It’s warped by the lazy cut of obsidian. It looks wrong - eyes wide, dried blood peeking from under his hair, an occasional tremor in his arms. _He can’t be here_.

“Let me out. Please,” Sam says as he struggles to get his feet under him. His injured arm is uselessly tucked against his too-hot chest. His other hand searches out a grip in the wall to pull himself up. It takes a few tries. “Bad, please, let me out.”

His voice is soothingly sweet as Bad says, “I can’t do that, Sam. You know that.”

_Does he?_

What does he remember? There had been laughter and screaming and a patch of black, of nothing as he fell. Aching pain and terror. Panic like the one that’s making his chest burn. And before all that, there had been arguing. Sam squints at the little hole that Bad’s formed. They had all been arguing and he remembers that it felt like he was boiling over. Too many emotions vying for his attention because Bad and Ant had wanted to do something.

“You can’t keep getting in the way.” Bad’s still talking. “We’ll let you once once we’ve dealt with our little problem, or until you let the Egg in. I’m sure it would be willing to let Tommy live if you just accept it.”

They want to kill Tommy. _Puffy’s expression was stricken, unbelieving. “Bad, he’s a child!”_

Sam can’t do anything to stop them, not while trapped like this. Why had he listened to them? _Useless_. “You can’t-”

“We can, actually,” Ant says.

“No, you _can’t_ -”

“Sam, shut up.”

The pickaxe breaks through the wall and the section of obsidian is pried out. A puff of spores filters into the new opening. Bad crouches down to wave at Sam as he gives Ant an amused look. “That’s a little rude, Ant.”

Ant pushes his way up to stand by Bad. He glares at Sam. “He chose some troublesome _kid_ over the Badlands, over the Egg.” Bad sighs and gives Sam a tight smile - _what can you do?_ \- before shooing Ant away.

“Let’s go. Our work here is done.”

Sam lunges for the window. It’s just big enough for him to stick a hand out and grab Bad’s sleeve. “Don’t leave me here. _Please_.”

Bad doesn’t try to move away. He taps his chin, looking lost in thought. “I’ll see if Puffy might want to come visit.”

 _No_. Something snaps in his chest and the heat steadily climbs, forcing its way up to his throat. There’s the smell of burnt cloth and Bad’s jerking his arm away from Sam’s grip. There are scorch marks in the shape of Sam’s fingers along the sleeve's edge. Bad steps out of Sam’s reach to inspect the damage with a scowl. Out of sight, Ant snickers.

Sam draws his arm back, ignoring the heat prickling under the skin of his hand. There’s a surprising absence of guilt - Sam knows how much Bad likes his cloak. _It’s what he deserves._ Bad shakes out his sleeve and when some of the burnt cloth crumbles away, he makes a face.

They turn to leave without another word and it’s almost as if the floor has disappeared beneath his feet, again. Only this time, there’s no bottom to crash against. They’re out of his reach and too far gone for Sam to reel them back into something sane. Only fragments of the friends he loves remain.

They leave him trapped in an obsidian box and desperately, achingly alone.

_But he’s not really alone, is he?_

The heat is dissipating, smothered by betrayal, until only an ember flickers behind his ribs. Sam clutches at the window’s edge, watching for someone else to walk into the room, waiting for someone to help him. Even with the new view, there’s only so much he can see. That doesn’t stop him from searching for a flash of rainbow or a glimpse of blonde hair. His legs start to shake and he leans against the wall to keep his balance. The obsidian is rough beneath his fingers, digging into his skin.

Wait.

He doesn’t have his gloves.

Sam glances down at himself. The laces on his steel-toed boots are undone and his armor is missing. Where had it gone? He checks his mask, but other than some scuffs and a bent attachment, it’s fine. It’s still working, still venting his rapid breathing with a mechanical whirr. With a shaking hand, he summons his inventory to find that it’s been emptied. _That’s not possible_.

Bad said he had checked on him earlier, hadn’t he? That could explain the lack of armor, but what about his inventory? There was no way for Bad to get access to it. He hadn’t died, had he? That doesn’t make any sense - he is still _here_ \- but how else could they get access to his inventory?

They hadn’t even left one of the spare safety vests he had been meaning to drop off at the hotel site. Sam hates how flimsy the protective gear is, but it still would have been something. Without his armor, he feels vulnerable. There’s no barrier between him and all of this ( _no barrier between him and ignition_ ). 

Sam pushes back from the window to lean against the wall. _No one is coming_ . _Not for him_ . The movement jostles his arm and he hisses at the pain. He gingerly runs his fingers over his shoulder and down to his elbow. It doesn’t _look_ broken. There’s some swelling, but there’s not much else he can tell without rolling up his sleeve - not a good idea if just brushing his fingers against it makes the pain spike. He slides down the wall with a groan, clutching his left arm to his chest.

He pulls his legs up and drops his cheek against one knee. If he wasn’t as exhausted or in as much pain, Sam could probably start turning over an idea to escape - convince Bad or Ant that he adored the Egg, maybe. None of his thoughts can settle for long. It is like trying to corral loose threads, but each one unravels the moment he picks at it. With a sigh, he squeezes his eyes shut to try and focus on keeping an idea in place.

 _Wake_.

Sam jolts awake, momentarily forgetting where he is. Panic begins to claw at his chest and it builds into a fire, burning under his skin. He jerks his hand away from where it had fallen against his ankle before it gets too hot. He blinks and settles somewhat when he sees the obsidian reflect it back. His head is not pleased with all the sudden movement. _Can’t fall asleep with a concussion_ , he chides himself.

He’s not sure what woke him up. There had been a weight against his side, insistent, and then a jumble of sound that almost resembled a voice. It had been layered on top of other noises.

 _Wake_.

Something pulls at his foot. Sam adjusts his legs so he can see - a vine. It’s wrapped around his boot. The moment Sam lays eyes on it, it freezes. A beat of nothing but the rustling breeze and then it clicks.

“What the hell, what the _hell_ ,” Sam sputters as he tries to kick it off. The vine is stubborn and refuses to be moved until Sam reaches down to rip it apart. He watches as the torn end crumbles in his hand and the other part whips back to disappear out the high window.

When no other vines come to replace their comrade, Sam attempts to stand. He has to lean his left shoulder against the wall to get enough support to lift himself up. His good arm shakes, fingers dipping into grooves in the walls to snag his fingernails against the rock, and his legs feel unsteady. _He should sit back down_. Sam carefully makes the few steps towards the window at eye-height. It’s barely three feet of space, but it winds him. Sam leans his weight against the wall and peers out.

_It’s wrong._

A grassy field expands out before him. A strong breeze buffets his face and the air smells like sun-kissed dirt ( _that’s not right, it should be filtered air_ ). Sam rubs at his eyes, sure that the beautiful scene would fade when he looks again, but it remains. There’s nothing but sunshine, blue skies, and brilliant green laid out before him.

A noise catches his attention, and when Sam turns to find it, the obsidian box seems to fall away. No walls stop his hesitant step past where they should be. There’s a smile threatening to spill across his face, but he doesn’t care. He’s _out_. There’s the noise again and Sam begins towards it. His legs are steady, strong and Sam realizes that his head no longer feels as if it's splitting apart. He feels rested.

_This is wrong!_

The noise splits into voices. Two of them are unfamiliar, but the third is rough and he recognizes it. The voice’s owner is there on the tip of his tongue, but Sam can’t remember the face or name.

“Hello?” Sam calls. He can see the three individuals - a large man in what looks to be a heated argument with a shorter man and woman. The short man’s canine ears flick in irritation at something the others say. He’s not familiar - neither is the woman. Sam starts to raise his hand to catch their attention when the tall man turns towards him.

He’s the owner of the deep voice, the familiar one. Sam takes a step back under the man’s glare. He remembers him. _He wishes he didn’t_. “Engineer. Where have you been?”

“I, uh,” Sam darts a look at the others and is ignored, “I’m sorry, I--”

“You left your project, _again_ . I don’t care if you’re a civilian or,” the colonel ( _the man that still stalks Sam’s nightmares years later_ ) vaguely gestures at him, “whatever you are. You are under my command and that means I expect a level of responsibility from you, just as I would my troops.”

“I’m sorry.”

The woman snaps, “Sorry isn’t going to cut it this time, Engineer. You’ve wandered off _twice_ this week already.”

Sam doesn’t remember this conversation, but he does know what she’s talking about. He had shown some of the soldiers a few tricks with redstone and then command had approached him with an idea for something bigger, something _dangerous_ . It hadn’t been too hard of a sell, some empty promises and quick flattery. _What an amazing builder you are. Yes, of course you can visit your home. We’ll promote her off the front lines, don’t worry._ Then there had been so much _bloodshed_ and they asked him to build it again and again.

He had been tired. Saying no had just resulted in beatings and abuse and there was only so long before his emotional state sparked up into an inferno. He wouldn’t take the poor souls he worked beside down with him - they were just as horrified, just as homesick as he had been. So he ran. The first few times, he was interrupted before getting past the camp’s boundary. His successful escape had taken two attempts. Sam remembers abandoning the first one when another engineer had stepped into his tent with a bloody face and warbling in their native tongue. The second time was successful - he found a server portal and never looked back.

_He got away. He’s safe._

Fidgeting under the colonel’s gaze and the icy stares of the other two soldiers, Sam thinks that maybe he never got away at all. “I’m sorry. I’ll go finish it now, sir.”

“See that you do.” The colonel, satisfied that Sam was cowed back into his work, turns to the others. “ _Hybrids_.” The other man looks offended, but doesn’t rise to the bait.

Sam means to take a step away, turn around and find camp, but he can’t move. His boots are stuck to the ground. The woman narrows her eyes. “Is there a problem, Engineer?”

“No, no,” he tries to raise his hands up, but they are just as immovable as his legs. “I’ll go - I’m going.”

The man snarls, baring sharp teeth. “He’s mocking us.”

“I’m _not_ , I’m sorry. I’m trying--”

“You know we do not suffer fools,” the colonel’s tone is uninterested. “I doubt anyone would be interested in the disappearance of a civilian, _hybrid_ engineer. Your work may be outstanding, but it is easily replaced.”

Sam shrinks back. He’s heard this before, but damn it, it’s not any easier to stomach by the hundredth time. He wants to move - wants to flee from the cold set of the colonel’s expression, the lurking hunger in the canine hybrid’s eyes, and the white-knuckled grip the woman has on her sword hilt. _Why can’t he move?_

The colonel shrugs. “Very well. We’ll promote someone with decent talents into your position, don’t worry.” He nods at the man.

There’s a scream rising in Sam’s throat as the man lunges forward. It dies, slipping from his throat side by side with his blood as the man snaps wolfish jaws shut around his neck.

Sam jerks his head back and collides with a solid and unforgiving wall. There’s no field, no sun. He raises a shaking hand to his neck and finds only long-healed scars. No blood. He’s about as sprawled out as he can be in the limited space, injured arm cushioned on his chest and one foot wedged against the lower window’s edge. There’s an ache building in his lower back. _He’s safe_. Sam sucks in a breath and filtered air fills his lungs. That’s all it takes before he’s jerking the gasmask down and leaning over to heave. There’s nothing in his stomach to bring up. Tears sting his eyes and drip down his nose as he gags and chokes.

He cannot believe he’s forgotten about the canine hybrid. They had only met in passing, but _fuck_. The man always kept his ears under his military cap - it couldn’t have been comfortable - and Sam only talked to him once. He had been harassing one of the rookie engineers when Sam stepped in to demand he leave. The last time he saw those familiar pricked ears, they were peeking out from under a blood-stained sheet.

_Sam’s tripping over his own feet to get out of the room when Fundy walks in. The hybrid’s eyes are glassy and devoid of anything but horror. The fur is different colors, different lengths, but all Sam can see is blood dripping from his mouth and spreading across his shirt. He ignores the way Fundy’s hurt gaze follows him out._

He pulls his sleeve up over his wrist and wipes at his mouth. Damn it. Sam thought he had managed to shove those memories out of reach. He spits bile onto the floor and rolls over to stare at the ceiling. _Damn it_.

 _I can help you, Sam_.

The voice is clearer, but still layered under others demanding his attention. Sam covers his ears, stubbornly ignoring the agony the movement inspires in his hurt arm. He won’t listen.

_I can help you move on. Help you forget._

He can’t help it. The mention of forgetting gets a sharp laugh out of him. “That’s Ranboo’s thing.” His throat burns.

The voice is quiet even as the other layers continue to snarl and scream. _I can help you._

“You can’t,” Sam says. His hands are pressed tight against his ears, but it’s useless. He shakes his head to try and force the voice out. “Go away, you can’t do anything.”

_Why won’t you let me in? I just want to help you._

Sam curls into himself. He hadn’t believed them when they said the Egg talked to them. Why doesn’t he ever listen? He misses his bed and Fran and Tommy’s quick laughter. Sam just wants to go home.

_Stay with me, yes?_

He can’t respond to it. If it’s just his scrambled mind making things up then he can’t encourage it. At least, that sounds like the right thing to do. If it _is_ the Egg ( _it is, it is!_ ) then he can’t respond to it anyway. He can’t give it the satisfaction of a conversation.

_What do you want? I’ll help you get it._

Sam’s head is pounding, but he tries to drag out thoughts and ideas to give himself something to focus on. Hadn’t Tubbo wanted to have him do something?

_I’ll give it to you._

Yes! Tubbo wants to show him something in Snowchester the next time he’s in the area. And Puffy has an idea for a new farm. She wasn’t sure about the area she had plotted out so she begged him to come look over the plans when he was free. What else? Tommy’s hotel still needs to be finished. How long has he been down here? Tommy is going to be wondering where he is, why Sam Nook hasn’t done anything. He needs to get back to them.

He needs to get out.

_You should stay._

Who’s watching over the boys while he’s here? Puffy had been just as adamant about keeping Tommy safe from Bad and Ant, so maybe she was keeping an eye on them?

_I can protect them even when you cannot._

Puffy would keep them safe. Sam trusts her.

A footstep echoes through the room. The voice is still whispering at him, but with the distraction, Sam can ignore it.

“Sam?”

Sam scrambles to his feet, wheezing out a pained breath when he moves his arm wrong. “Puffy! Puffy, what are you doing here?”

A shadow covers one of the windows. “Sam?”

“Puffy?”

She repeats his name again and the shadow sways a little. Sam reaches his fingers up to the slat and manages to wiggle them out. A vine brushes against him. There is no cloth, no fur, no Puffy.

_You’ll never have to worry about them. Don’t you want that? Their safety?_

“Puffy,” Sam chokes. “Puffy, please.”

_Just let me in. Just accept me._

Despair threatens to drown him. Sam can feel the kick-start of heat in his chest, can feel his fingers sparking with the energy burning under his skin, and there’s still no soft touch of someone here to save him. The vine recoils at the heat radiating from his hand and moves away from the window. Sam can see the red, spore-covered ceiling. Tears spill down his cheeks and are a momentary relief against his too-hot face.

“Let me out. Bad, Ant, let me out!” No one answers him. Even the Egg seems to have withdrawn as Sam struggles to keep his head above the emotional turmoil threatening to drag him under. He’s going to be sick again. “Please, please, _please_.”

He begs the empty room until he’s doubled over and heaving. Once his stomach settles, Sam retrieves his mask and shakily fits it back on. He’s so fucking _tired_. He sits back down in his spot against the wall. More tears steadily drip from his chin. No one is listening ( _i_ _t is_ ), no one can hear him ( _it can_ ) _._ He curls his legs up to his chest and throws an arm across his face to muffle his hiccupping cries.


End file.
